


Crossing the Line

by avalonjoan



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Backrubs, Caretaking, Coming Out, Emetophobia, Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Relationship, Sick Character, Sickfic, teenage boys being nice, the Q, there is no graphic illness but still tagging as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7637188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonjoan/pseuds/avalonjoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though they're linemates, Jack doesn't know Kent all that well.  He certainly doesn't expect the American to come look after him when he's unwell on their first roadie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing the Line

It was the first roadie of the season, the team was poised to win that night, and Jack had been up for most of the night with a stomach bug.  His roommate had been re-roomed, the trainer had come by to make sure he wasn't dying, and Jack camped out on the floor of the bathroom, huddled under the comforter from his bed, drifting off intermittently on the tile floor. By the time the rest of the team left for practice in the morning the worst had passed, but Jack had resigned himself to spending the day in bed. He was weak and a little dizzy, and no matter how much he brushed his teeth, he couldn't get the acrid taste out of the back of his throat.

He was somewhere between awake and asleep when there was a knock at the door followed by the whir of the electronic lock opening.   The trainer had said she would check on him when they got back, but the voice that greeted him was decidedly not Callie. "Jack?" The door clicked shut, and Kent Parson stepped into view. "I thought you might want some company."

"You shouldn't be here," Jack mumbled, "You'll catch it."

Kent shrugged and came further into the room, picking up a foam coffee cup from the dresser before coming to stand by the head of Jack's bed. "Doesn't matter--we're all gonna get it." He held up a plastic pharmacy bag, taking out a liter of pediatric electrolyte solution, a toothbrush, and a box of crackers, and setting them on the bedside table.  "I brought you a few things."

"Oh," Jack said, surprised. 

He and Kent weren't close.  They didn't have much in common--Jack kept to himself and focused on the game, while Kent was always joking around with the team, sometimes even on the ice.  Plus, Jack had been wary of how close he allowed himself to get to his linemate.  There had been whispers about Kent from early on: that he was into ecstasy, or coke, or other guys.  There was always speculation about players at one point or another, but people were usually quick to lay rumors to rest.  Kent had done that, but Jack noticed that he'd only addressed the drugs. 

Kent unscrewed the cap on the bottle.  "Have you been keeping anything down?" he asked, filling the cup halfway with solution.

Jack shrugged.  "A little water?"

"Sit up--this is better for rehydration." 

Pushing himself to a sitting position, Jack closed his eyes and waited for the room to still before taking the cup from Kent.  His hands shaking, he spilled some of the liquid onto his shirt before managing even a sip.

“Here, I got this.” Kent’s hand closed around Jack’s, holding the cup firmly as Jack let go. With Kent holding the cup to his mouth, Jack took small sips until he’d had about half of the liquid. “That’s probably enough for now,” Kent said, putting the cup on the bedside table.  “Don’t want to have too much, too fast. Still doing okay?”

Jack nodded. The solution had been strangely salty, but not entirely unpleasant, and while he’d felt a little nauseated after the first sip, his stomach was quickly settling.   He tugged the blanket up from where it had fallen around his waist, covering as much of his torso as possible before leaning his head against the wall behind him, eyes closed again. “Got any other magic tricks in your bag?”

“Nothing in the bag, but a shower always helps me feel better," Kent suggested.

 A shower sounded wonderful.  Jack felt disgusting, he'd spent the night in a cold sweat, and his hair was plastered to his forehead.  He didn't trust his body to stay upright for it, though—the last time he’d gotten up, his legs had been so shaky, he’d had to stop and sit on the floor for a few minutes before making it back to bed.  "Don’t think I can stand for that long."

Kent shrugged.  "So sit.  I'll wait outside if you need anything."

Slowly, Jack nodded, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  He started to pull his shirt over his head, and felt Kent tugging the hem over his shoulders.  He was grateful for the help, since everything was sore from the fever and the retching, but this was beyond the usual teammate call of duty.  "You don't have to do all this, you know."

"My moms are doctors, and I've got a bunch of kid siblings," Kent explained, tossing the shirt aside, "So this is like, one of the few situations I can handle."

With Kent's help, Jack stood, pushing his boxers down with one hand and leaving them on the floor.  They'd both been playing hockey long enough to not care about seeing a teammate naked.  Not that Jack would have cared otherwise--he felt bad enough that modesty wasn't even on his radar.  He made his way to the bathroom, half-leaning on Kent, then against the wall while the other started the shower.  Jack knelt down in the tub, letting the water wash over him for a few minutes before starting to wash himself.  Every so often, Kent would call out to him from outside the door, just to confirm he was still okay.  When he was finished, Jack reached up and shut off the water.  "Kent?" he said, resting his head against the edge of the tub, "Help?"

Kent stepped inside and draped a towel over Jack's shoulders before putting one putting one arm around Jack and helping him to his feet. After quickly drying himself off, Jack left the bathroom to find that Kent had pulled back the covers on the other bed, the one Jack's roommate had barely used.  He made it to the bed without much trouble, and the sheets were cool against his bare skin--certainly an improvement from his sickbed of the night before.  Kent covered him, smoothing the fabric over his back, looking down at Jack.

"Thanks for looking out for me," Jack murmured, eyes half-open.

"Being sick away from home sucks, man.  I got the flu my second week here--ended up Skyping with my mom every night so she could sing me to sleep." Kent sat on the bedside table, his hand resting on the mattress by Jack's head.

Jack’s chest tightened just thinking about home. "My mom used to rub my back while my dad told me stories about the Habs."

“I don’t think I can compete with your dad’s stories,” Kent chuckled, “but if you roll onto your stomach I can try my hand at that.”

As he shifted positions, Jack realized that he wasn’t sure if Kent meant that offer in earnest. He’d never heard Kent talk about something that wasn’t hockey or stories about his team back home, and this serious Kent was difficult to read. But when he settled down, cheek against the pillow, he felt the other’s hands press down on his shoulders by the base of his neck. “This okay?”

Jack hummed in accord. "You're good at this."

"You're not the first guy to tell me that." Kent's voice was low, like when he made jokes on the bench that he hoped Coach wouldn't catch, and Jack could practically hear him smirking. Caught off-guard by the casual way Kent brought it up, Jack was still racking his brain for a response when Kent lifted his hands off of his back.

Jack turned slightly, pushing himself up on one arm so he could see Kent's face.  The other boy was looking down and worrying his bottom lip, his hands folded in his lap. Softly, Jack said, "If anyone gives you trouble, you let me know, okay?"

It was a little presumptuous to think he had any say as a rookie, but still, when Bob Zimmermann’s kid said something, people took him a little more seriously than they might any other sixteen-year-old. Kent nodded once, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.  "Thanks."

Jack lay back down on the bed. "You can keep going," he said, rolling his shoulders, "You're gonna put me back to sleep, though."

Pushing his thumbs along either side of Jack's spine, Kent replied, "Good.  Rest up so you can get back on the ice."

Jack didn't ask why Kent decided to confide in him—he knew how that would go. Kent would end up saying something like, "You seemed approachable," and it would be an obvious lie.  If there were something else about Jack that gave it away, some sort of tell, he'd rather not know.  It was easier than spending the rest of his career painfully aware of the way he walked or talked or looked at his teammates.  And maybe it was just Kent--maybe it was obvious to him that, in spite of their differences, Jack was like him. Or it could be nothing. Kent might just be reaching out in the dark, confessing his secrets in a moment of loneliness, of Jack’s vulnerability.

Whatever it was, it was going to stay in that hotel room; they both had too much to lose for it to be any other way. Jack fell asleep before he could perseverate too much, with Kent’s hands warm on his back.

 

* * *

   
A few days later, the team was back home. As Kent had predicted, everyone else started falling ill, so when Kent wasn’t at practice one morning, Jack wasn’t surprised.   Noticing how different the locker room felt without Kent, Jack sent him a text as he packed up his gear.  


**You (2:05 PM)  
** _Need anything?_

 **Kent Parson (2:07 PM)  
** _The sweet release of death_

 **You (2:08 PM)**  
_:( What’s your address?_  


After assuring Kent’s host mother that he’d already had the same illness, Jack knocked once before opening the door to Kent’s bedroom. He stepped inside and sat on the edge of the mattress beside Kent, who—although looking exhausted and pale—still managed a beaming smile.

"It’s been a long time since I sang at all,” Jack said, trying unsuccessfully to smooth over Kent's cowlick, “so I hope you like French-Canadian children’s songs.”

As it turned out, Kent did. Jack discovered that Kent also liked being held while he fell asleep, his face nestled against Jack’s neck.

 


End file.
